Sense of Duty
((This story ties in with the Dryad Eyes posts by davatkins))
She stood before him, green eyes piercing, black hair pulled into a high tail. She had dressed as a warrior, clad in the leather armor of one prepared to go into battle. At her hip hung a scimitar, the most widely used blade of Isilnocc. With a single step she brought herself to him, her hands with skin the color of sun darkened gold, just as his own, lifted to caress his face. She smiled, raised herself on her toes to bring her lips to his and screamed with agony as an arrow tore into her back.
The woman fell from his arms, dying, and he could do nothing. Nothing at all. His hazel eyes looked up, catching the archer who had taken away his love. His hand reached for his dagger, the silver-bladed weapon glinting in the desert sun as it escaped its sheath. One step forward, another, he brought himself slowly toward the archer. The man readied another arrow, fired.
A warrior fell dead, the arrow pulling blood from his throat where the shine of armor failed to protect. He looked into the fallen warrior's familiar face. Another friend, gone.
A third step. A fourth. A third arrow came at him.
The fluttering of robes heralded the next martyr. The sorcerer dropped at his feet, blood seeping into the sand. He felt sorrow, though he had barely known the man.
A fifth and sixth step brought him in range. The cloaked archer stood before him, face concealed behind a mask of wood painted a deep blue. The silver dagger flashed and struck, digging into the cold heart of his enemy. The mask fell and the black bearded face of hatred stared back and spoke.
"They die for you. They all die for you." The bearded face transformed, morphing swiftly into his own. "Coward," the doppelganger said. "You ran and left them to die. Coward."
He struggled as the doppelganger reached for him, hands clenching at his throat. He flailed wildly as stars appeared before his eyes, then dimmed, then all was black.
With a thud Matthew awoke. He lay on the floor beside his bed, blankets pooled around him as he struggled against his dream. He groaned and sat up, one hand going to the back of his head. There would be a lump there, he knew. With another groan he stood. There would be no more sleep for him this night.
He had crossed to his window, only a bare view of the mountains that closed the sides of Keeper's Gateway, when a knock came at his door. Matthew cursed to himself but called back "A moment!" before moving to dress himself. When he unbarred the door and cracked it open, the servant that waited bowed a head in greeting.
"What?" Matthew said. He had no desire to be bothered at this time of night, especially after another of what had become a series of these nightmares.
The servant bowed his head again and produced a rolled parchment, tied with a bit of ribbon. "A message, sir. I was told it was urgent."
Matthew snatched the paper and unrolled it, eyes quickly scanning the words inked there. As he read the brief note, the color faded from his face, his eyes widened. His voice was barely a whisper.
"Treyp..."
She stood before him, green eyes piercing, black hair pulled into a high tail. She had dressed as a warrior, clad in the leather armor of one prepared to go into battle. At her hip hung a scimitar, the most widely used blade of Isilnocc. With a single step she brought herself to him, her hands with skin the color of sun darkened gold, just as his own, lifted to caress his face. She smiled, raised herself on her toes to bring her lips to his and screamed with agony as an arrow tore into her back.
The woman fell from his arms, dying, and he could do nothing. Nothing at all. His hazel eyes looked up, catching the archer who had taken away his love. His hand reached for his dagger, the silver-bladed weapon glinting in the desert sun as it escaped its sheath. One step forward, another, he brought himself slowly toward the archer. The man readied another arrow, fired.
A warrior fell dead, the arrow pulling blood from his throat where the shine of armor failed to protect. He looked into the fallen warrior's familiar face. Another friend, gone.
A third step. A fourth. A third arrow came at him.
The fluttering of robes heralded the next martyr. The sorcerer dropped at his feet, blood seeping into the sand. He felt sorrow, though he had barely known the man.
A fifth and sixth step brought him in range. The cloaked archer stood before him, face concealed behind a mask of wood painted a deep blue. The silver dagger flashed and struck, digging into the cold heart of his enemy. The mask fell and the black bearded face of hatred stared back and spoke.
"They die for you. They all die for you." The bearded face transformed, morphing swiftly into his own. "Coward," the doppelganger said. "You ran and left them to die. Coward."
He struggled as the doppelganger reached for him, hands clenching at his throat. He flailed wildly as stars appeared before his eyes, then dimmed, then all was black.
With a thud Matthew awoke. He lay on the floor beside his bed, blankets pooled around him as he struggled against his dream. He groaned and sat up, one hand going to the back of his head. There would be a lump there, he knew. With another groan he stood. There would be no more sleep for him this night.
He had crossed to his window, only a bare view of the mountains that closed the sides of Keeper's Gateway, when a knock came at his door. Matthew cursed to himself but called back "A moment!" before moving to dress himself. When he unbarred the door and cracked it open, the servant that waited bowed a head in greeting.
"What?" Matthew said. He had no desire to be bothered at this time of night, especially after another of what had become a series of these nightmares.
The servant bowed his head again and produced a rolled parchment, tied with a bit of ribbon. "A message, sir. I was told it was urgent."
Matthew snatched the paper and unrolled it, eyes quickly scanning the words inked there. As he read the brief note, the color faded from his face, his eyes widened. His voice was barely a whisper.
"Treyp..."